Salt Flats

The Bonneville Salt Flats are punctuation to Utah's mountainous landscape. God hit a hard return here, leaving nothing but blank space between paragraphs. It has so much nowhere and has such a vastness of empty, that the negative space itself begins to hold substance. It's justified as a destination.

We drove out there last weekend, to watch the sunset, see the stars and have what Camilla deemed "a post-apocalyptic picnic." Because the apocalypse would surely leave a landscape as desolate and otherworldly as this one. 

The longer I've lived in Utah, the more I've fallen in love with it. The diversity of landscapes never ceases to astonish me. Within a 200 mile radius of my front door there is red rock, salt flats, the dense forests and lakes of the high Uintas, there are hot springs, and sand dunes and peaks still dusted in snow.

It took us about two hours to get this place, splitting gas costs $9 each. We got to feel the strange coarse texture of salt under bare feet, and star-gazed under of one of the widest skies I've ever seen. I begin thinking back on what I allocate my time to. Two hours of netflix happens easily, two hours through the course of the day on my phone, two hours spent deciding what to wear for a date, two hours procrastinating going on a run.... Days spent in reoccurring patterns, so that tomorrow and today are so much the same that they easily become indistinguishable as yesterdays.

I took a pause there on the flats, took some space of mind. As dark settled, my friend Kyle reminded us that all the planets in the solar system lined up radius to radius still wouldn't bridge the gap from the Earth to the Moon. I'm humbled by that, and humbled at how inconsequential the size of this  plain of salt is in comparison to that distance. I'm humbled by how lengthy a single day can seem, and at the same time humbled by the brevity of a life.

How to Fend off a Black Bear Attack

If you happen to see a bear, but it does not see you, quickly and calmly leave the area, or make a wide detour around it.

If you happen to have a close encounter....

1) Talk calmly and firmly to the bear, remain calm. Bears can smell fear.
2) Back away while still facing the bear - do not, however, make eye contact. Similar to hippogriffs, black bears may interpret it as a sign of aggression. Give the bear plenty of room to escape.
3)  Whatever you do - don't run. Running is likely to cause the bear to give chase. You may have run track in high school, but bears can hit 30 mph. The bear will win. The same goes for climbing trees, and despite what the lego model at the Ohio State Fair may lead you to believe, bears are excellent climbers.

Seen at the State Fair - demonstrates poor survival strategy

I'm not entirely proud to report that during my first encounter with a black bear, I only managed to follow one piece of this survival advice - by which I mean I managed to avoid ending up in a tree.

Molly and I were finishing out a longer day on the trail, when my Achilles tendon began to ache. I became slower and slower, practically hobbling by the last mile as the sun was getting closer to setting. To make matters worse, we were expecting some heavy storms that night as the cold front came in.

"We're within a mile of camp, go ahead" I told Molly, knowing storms make her anxious and we'd already figured out setting our tent up after dark was a poor choice. "Set up the tent, get stuff ready, I'll see you at camp."

"Are you sure?" she asked, looking at my ankle dubiously and clearly hesitant to leave.

"Yeah, do it." I said, and after taking a moment to consider, she quickened her pace and rapidly moved out of sight.

Having been a runner before I was a hiker, I think of miles as short little things. Miles are knocked out in six or seven minutes. Backpacking is an entirely different beast though. Each mile is more like an impossibly long eternity and you try to cram up to 15 of them all in one day.

Hiking alone wasn't too bad. The woods were eerily quietly at first without Molly there - no conversation, not even the sound of her footsteps crashing over rocks and through the layer of past year's fallen leaves. But the eery turned to a peaceful stillness and I thought, I could really do this, I could hike solo. 

And then the crashing returned. I heard a the snapping of sticks and the sounds of something approaching. I wasn't even concerned, the AT intersected with another trail, Pine Knob Loop at that point. It was probably just another hiker. Or maybe it was even Molly; had she turned down the wrong trail or thought this was the off trail for our campsite?

I stopped. I stood. I considered. I peered into the woods. I was about to call out her name, to check, and just then, the bear emerged. My first thought was, 'wow, that's a lot smaller than I imagined' and my second reaction was a sudden swell of panic rose which rose up inside me. Here I was, alone and injured, on a mountain, miles away from civilization, five to ten feet away from a bear. There was no nice bulletproof glass between us like at the zoo, when you just get to stare at the bear and coo over how beautiful it is.

Holy. Crap. Why did I choose this? I brought this upon myself! Usually, the black bears here are skittish. If they hear you coming, they avoid you. I had snuck up on him.

All of the advice for dealing with bears that I'd read sped through my head in a flash. And then, I ignored it. All of it. I turned on my heel and walked rapidly away, which would almost be alright... if he hadn't seen me. In actuality, the bear and I practically made eye contact. I was not quiet by any means as I spoke-shouted a fervent prayer to the almighty.

Please God, Bless that I will make it to the campsite safely. 
Please God, Bless that I will make it to the campsite safely. 
Please God.... over and over again.

The bear wouldn't have needed to smell the fear on me, because it already manifest in the wavering of my voice. That mile was infinite. I had begun to worry too that I had somehow passed the campsite when I saw a figure running toward me brandishing something - Molly, it was Molly, rain jacket tied snugly around her waist brandishing her big Cutco knife (it was still in it's sheath).

I was so glad to see her! I burst into tears.

I stood there, in the middle of the trail, crying. The tough, wilderness-ready person that I thought I was, any image of that, crumbled away. I felt more like the cowardly lion than Bear Grylls. I was hyperventilating, probably the closest I've been to a panic attack in my entire life.

"Judith, Look into my eyes, deep breathes, look at me, are you okay?" The words tumbled out of Molly's mouth like one drawn out sentence. I could tell she was concerned, but also uncomfortable with the situation, "Is it your ankle? Is it that bad? We can go home early if you need to, it's okay. Are you okay?"

I gasped out an explanation about the bear and the onset of darkness and the bear and the bear again... and then let out a couple more chocked up sobs.

"You saw a bear?!" A grin spread across Molly's face, "I know now is probably not an appropriate time to say this, but I am so jealous!"

Of course. Of course she was. I could only laugh.

First Snow

Em had never seen snow before, and so as we exited our Anthropology into a morning that was thick with the stuff, her eyes grew wide with a child-like amazement. I couldn't stop laughing. Raised in the Midwest, it's difficult for me to remember that harsh winters are not entirely part of the common human experience. I was reminded of the student who'd moved from Brazil in sixth grade and how he stood up in the middle of class and walked over to the window at first snow. He'd had that same look of awe on his face.

'You've never seen snow before?'

'Nope. Southern California isn't really the place for it' she replied, voice dripping in sarcasm.

'So, you've never gone sledding before?'

'Nope.'

'Or had a snowball fight?'

She shook her head

'And never built a snowman....' Now I was the one in shock...

The amazement in Em's eyes had been replaced with an expression that strongly communicated duh. But I was too caught up in how many activities we had to fit in this winter.

First Snowman! Built right then and there outside of Anthropology lecture.

Our attempt pales in comparison to this Michelangelic piece I saw in front of the Brittany apartments. 

Flood Watch

Hail came titter-tattering down after the rain.They told us it would hurt. They warned us. We ignored them– you and I. We went outside to run and twirl and feel. After, we sat shoulder to shoulder under the awning of the porch and watched that storm shudder.

Skin still shivering.  

A Walk??

"Hey, Katherine, this is Judith."

"No, duh, phones have had caller ID for years now. What's up?"

Uhhg... I sigh internally. I still introduce myself every time I make a phone call. Force of habit? From when I was like, eight? Whatever.

"Do you want to go on a walk?"

"A Walk??" Her voice rises, implying incredulity "What do you mean a Walk?? Where would we go?"

"I don't know, around. We could walk to Jeni's and get ice cream" The last part might have been a bribe.

"Isn't that, like, reeeeally far away?"

"Umm... yeah?"

"How far is it?"

"Like an hour - walking" It might have been a modest estimate.

"How about let's drive over to the parking lot behind it and we can walk from my car to Jeni's?"

"All the way through  the parking lot? Funny"

She giggles.

"How about walking in the mall? May and I were going to go tonight. We could walk there. You want me to pick you up too?" You could hear in her voice she was smiling.

Katherine. Note to self: you can't win over a fashionista.

Not even with ice cream. 

Summer Morning

The mulberries are ripe this time of year. Saturated with the dew, they're so plump and full they hang heavy on their stems. They drop off the trees and scatter across sidewalks. I think if I'd brought Tupperware with me on my morning walk, I could pick enough to bake a mulberry pie. 

Today, the whole sky feels plump enough to drop at any minute; fat raindrops down on my head. It's classic Ohio humidity. 

Summer is ripe as well - big and deep and cherry-purple. The hours are long and delicious - full of  possibility. I remember somewhat distantly that decay is implicit, and this abundance is not boundless. Before I know it, Autumn will have fallen and these mulberry trees will be bare.

Masochist

The water in the creek was frigid. I thought back to the film of frost I'd seen on the front window of our Honda Fit that morning. Perfect weather for conducting a stream study.

"Shit, Shit, Shit, Holy Shit it's cold!" Tim stuck his hand down the pant leg of his waders. They were too tall for his stocky frame and the green gortex bunched up around him. It made him look even more gnome-like than usual. "There's a leak in the right boot! I think that water's coming up to my knee on this side. Shit, it's colder than the ice tub."

I couldn't help but laugh at the contortion of his face. My waders had holes in both boots, not just one. I may as well have been barefoot for how much water I was feeling. Actually barefoot would have been better, because the water that leaked in sloshed in my boots even when I got out on land. I was permanently submerged. All I can say is the environmental department at school runs a tight budget. And I just wished more than anything in the world I'd remembered to pack extra socks.

"Alright, let's do this guys" Catie said.

One could after all, only pity themselves for so long before moving on, gritting their teeth and accepting the cold. We set our nets in the water, kicked and counted microorganisms and measured depths.

The worst part was coming out. In the water our feet had mostly numbed. Walking back up to shore I felt off balance, because I couldn't feel below my knee and as my blood began circulating again, my nerves began to scream.

Meg was hopping up and down to try to thaw out, Kathrine massaged her toes and I peeled off my socks with distaste. A change of pants would be really nice too.

Being so cold makes a person feel so alive. Pain makes you vividly and sharply aware in a way that you can't be in leisurely comfort. And in a bizarre way want the permafrost on my toes. The soreness in my muscles, the bursting of my lungs and the dizzying feeling of losing oxygen.

I tried telling April about this in art class 6th period. By then the coldness from our morning's excursion had settled into my bones, I had made a home for it there. She told me that I'm a masochist. I guess I get that a lot. But I'm okay with it.

 It's probably true.

The Maintenance Man

The Maintenance man taught me the power of questions.

My very wise brothers have always told me "The mark of an interesting person is that they can find something interesting in any situation."

People are always interesting. And I guarantee you that every man, woman or child that you encounter has some fascinating story tucked away in their front pocket -  stories behind their ears and swallowed down inside of them. And sometimes people have a whole load of stories that fill up their boots so heavy that they can barely manage to take a single step forward.

The Maintenance man's story was hidden in the space between his fingertips and a piano, or a saxophone or really any instrument you can imagine (except the harp and didgeridoo).

We had asked "So why is your nick name keys?"

And he had replied "Oh, I just like messing around on the piano. But I get bored after the first two pages of a song, so I can only play introductions...."

And it wasn't until two miles later down the trail we were pruning that we came across the question "So how did you start working here? Where are you going to college?"

Turns out this 'Maintenance Man' is an incredible musician. He auditioned and was accepted into Julliard school of Music. Tuition was too high there though. Consequentially he's been working overtime at the camp weeding, pruning, and repainting to earn tuition. He's re-auditioning next year.

The next day he let us volunteers listen to the orchestra piece he had composed and conducted. It got third in a national composition competition. It was a song of a canoe trip, mimicking the sounds he had gathered from the river on a small tape box recorder. It was astounding. And I spent those ten minutes just listening to music with my whole self and attention. I can't describe how good it feels to do that.

It was beautiful and I was blown away by the mastery it must have taken to write each part for each instrument in an entire orchestra. It's such a work of art.

But the point of this long and convoluted tale is really a wake up call to myself not to take people at face-value. Because each of us has such a wealth of experience and history that we can learn from. We can learn from each other, the stories of life, love and pain that we share. We learn the most from others stories when we sit down and really listen to. Listen to them with our whole selves and  whole attention.

I can't describe how good it feels to do that.

Snow Camping

You know, I’ve always loved camping. Immersing myself in the beauty of nature, freedom from material concerns - a certain happiness comes from that. But I’ve also always felt deep in my bones that snow camping is one of the best things in the world. It gives you that special kind of happiness that comes from waking up to find that you are still alive

Why do you bike?

I remember just a few months ago, when running was like a this balloon that had inflated inside my head, leaving room for nothing else. I just started my career as a distance runner on the track team. I loved running and I found I was good at it too. I two relays in my first varsity meet. My balloon was popped though after about a month when I hurt my hip badly and couldn't run competitively the rest of my season.

It drove me insane when it happened. At first and all I could think of was how much I wanted to just run and run and run for miles and miles and hours and hours. But something equally amazing grew out of that misfortune. Even flowers can grow from where just dirt used to be.

It was during those weeks of injury that I began to bike like no other, trying to replace my runners high with even more miles of cycling. To be honest, biking never has replaced for me what running gives. A run ends in this weary drained feeling, like all those busy thoughts in my head have been pounded out, leaving only dizzy contentment. A bike ride never leaves me that way.

If running was like a balloon in my head ever inflating, biking was like roots shooting out. I still remember the first time I rode to church and crossed the bridge over the river. It was like a door opening to a whole new world. All these remote places that we would drive to, like kick-boxing, the art store and church were accessible. And there was something more tangible about the journey on my bicycle where I could feel the miles beneath me and inside of my limbs.

The further I go and the more I explore on my bike the greater the feeling grows. I feel like I am part of the landscape; I belong in the painting. And the roads, telephone lines and Ohio countryside belong in me, inside my thighs. I have lived over those miles and felt them by the power of my lungs and legs. Each time I go further or discover a new route I feel myself and those miles inside of me grow.

Last Sunday someone asked me why I biked to church. I didn't know how to say all of it then. And just like the miles, the reasons keep on growing.

The short answer is simply because I enjoy it.